


To Bask in Love

by Selkiessong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Courtesans, Crossover, F/M, House Heliotrope, Light Smut, Rhaella Targaryen-mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkiessong/pseuds/Selkiessong
Summary: When Jon visits the Court of Night Blooming Flowers he chooses House Heliotrope famed for the attention they pay to their patrons.





	To Bask in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allegre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegre/gifts).



> House Heliotrope- Devotion "Thou and Thou Alone"

   He is beautiful, my lover. Slightly too short for Camilla, but then ,so am I. Before my mother wed my father she too served Naamah. It caused a few clucked tongues their marriage, the simple chevalier and the delicate Cereus adept. Still, Blessed Elua bid us to love as we would, and not even the Dowayne of Cereus would dream of gainsaying that precept. So I came to serve Naamah as did my mother before me, but not at the house she served in. Not for me the fragility of House Cereus, not for me it’s delicate strength. It is in me to love freely and with open hands, and so it was at Heliotrope where I limned my marque and where I serve to this very night. It is here among the love seats, the low tables, the draped beds that I offer my patrons Naamah’s gifts.

   “Drink, my lord.” Each house of the Night Court has its own little rituals, somewhat that sets it apart and Heliotrope is no exception. To each patron we offer wine from Namarre, smooth and slightly sweet. Love and desire. We at Heliotrope offer both.

   “No. I mean, thank you, I appreciate it, but-”

   “But it is not what you thought would be given?” I offer gently. He speaks with a slight accent that proclaims he is new to the city, and I am fiercely glad he has chosen my House tonight. Had he chosen Camilla or Dahlia they would no doubt have devoured him in a single bite, but I find his slight awkwardness endearing. He is genuine with no pretense, and we cannot all of us be trained in the arts of conversation. “My lord, should it please you, I would use your name and you mine. I am Daenerys, and you?”

   “Jon. My friends call me Jon.”

    “Jon,” I taste his name as I say it, finding it pleasant in my mouth, “you were told of our House’s canon?” I worry that he hasn’t, that what his heart truly seeks is to be found elsewhere. How terrible it would be for him to leave unfulfilled.

   “Devotion. You and no other. But I thought,” he pauses, a deep flush edging into his face, “I thought it meant, well, that you only saw one patron at a time,” he finishes in a rush.”

   Naamah have mercy.

   “And so we do. Not only in body, but in heart as well. We love each patron who passes a night with us, each differently than any that came before and any that will come after. Each one receives Naamah’s gifts. Passion,” I raise his goblet to his lips and watch him swallow, eyes wide and dark, “and desire,” and I feed him a small bite of honey cake, brushing a thumb over his lips. “Shall I show you?”

   He is eager, I can see it in his quick nod, the abrupt motion of this throat. Still, I take my time disrobing him, allow him to savor the sensation of fabric moving over skin, the gentle touch of the air. We have all of this night; there is no cause for haste. And truly his body is one to enjoy slowly, to allow myself to enjoy the sight of him, his body sculpted like an offering to Camael, all taunt muscle and very male. We do not so much perform the arousement here in Helioptrope but offer it instead, a lover’s gift.

   “Daenerys.” His voice has a slight tremble to match his hands. “Off.” He plucks at my gown. “Please let me see you.”

   Our clothes are simple here. Not quite as insignificant as a robe, but still easy to remove. I see his quick breath as I turn baring my back, and knows he’s seen my completed marque, all interlocked lines, heliotrope clusters and lovers knots in shades of mauve and purple.  No longer hesitant, he is hot and straining in my hand, and I find myself licking my lips.

   “Can I?”

    I follow his eyes down my own naked body, my Naamah’s Pearl beginning to throb under his gaze. He could almost be one of us, to undo at a glance.

   “Can you?”

   “Pay you homage,” he says with a significant glance and I know he can see that I’ve pressed my legs together. “Let me pay Naamah homage through your pearl.”

    “Should you wish it.” It is not usually done, no, but then I have never heard it said that Naamah denied herself pleasure where she could find it. If it is his desire to pleasure me, who am I to refuse?

   Elua!  If I was trained at Eglantine I could describe his homage, and homage it truly was. Only from a Jasmine adept at one memorable Longest Night had I known the like. All I can tell you is that he trained in the Night Court his mouth could not have been more skilled, all long skillful strokes and teasing flicks, his hands holding me with his fingers kneading just so all the while, bringing me to a peak faster than I thought possible.

    “Come,” I managed when I stopped shaking, urging him fully between my legs, body to body, hardness touching yielding flesh. “Find in me Naamah’s gift.”

   He needs no further urging and truly, I am impressed with his restraint. I see his eyes close and he slides inside me and know he’s felt me tighten around him.

   “Yes,” I encourage, feeling him move and arching to meet him, “like that. Just like that.”

   He peaks nearly immediately and his final thrusts are more than enough to let me find release a second time.

   “This,” I whisper. “This is the gift of Naamah.”


End file.
